A Daughter's Love

A/N: I Regretfully Own Nothing

Okay guys, I am very very sorry for this whole not-updating thing, but I had mandatory papers that had to get done for school & all that jazz. I'm sooo sorry! I decided to cut this chapter into two chapters, because the next one is all about Charlotte's proof that she is his daughter. So sorry that this is kinda short, but hang with me – the best is yet to come! :)

P.S.: I hope you all had a wonderful holiday season!

Chapter Three – I'm Sorry, But Just Give Me a Chance

Patrick paced back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. The heat of the summer sun beat down on his back as he traipsed around outside. He barely noticed the temperature and the discomfort it caused; his mind was quite obviously focused on much more important things.

That girl was not his daughter. His daughter was dead.

She was dead.

Patrick stopped in his tracks, running a hand through his curly hair. The same curly hair that Charlotte had. He let out an exasperated breath. Everything about Charlotte had been similar to himself. Her hair, her eyes, her attitude, her wit, her personality. Everything except for her smile. That had been her mother's, that bright and flawless smile that could warm anyone's heart. Patrick's heart physically ached. Oh, that smile. He was still in love with that smile.

And, he had to admit, the girl who claimed to be his daughter seemingly had it all – his eyes and hair, her mother's smile – but that was simply what Red John wanted Patrick to believe. Yes – this was what Red John was best at: deceiving people. Patrick tried weakly to convince himself. This girl was not his daughter - she was just a look-a-like.

"Jane!" Teresa's voice calling his name snapped Patrick out of his thoughts. The brunette was hurrying down the sidewalk outside CBI with obvious confusion etched upon her face. She stopped when she reached Patrick. She opened her mouth as though to speak, but no words came out. She pursed her lips together, and both of them stood in silence. There were simply no right words to say.

Patrick ran his hand through his curls once again. He used to dream of this day – finding his daughter to be perfectly healthy and surviving. But he always knew that that day would not – COULD not – ever come to be. He had held his dead daughter in his arms. He had –

He closed his eyes, pinching back the memories that had haunted him for so long. He never thought about that dreadful day anymore. He had moved on. At least, that's what he had thought.

"Patrick," Teresa laid her hand on his arm, and he reopened his eyes. He gazed into her face, trying to help calm his nerves. However, a memory of his wife flooded back to him across her face. He winced slightly and turned away, pushing Teresa's touch away from him.

"This cannot be happening." He muttered softly, mostly to himself.

Teresa sighed. "I understand that this is a lot, Patrick, but –"

"No, Lisbon, you don't understand!" He cut her off, snapping his head back in her direction. His words seemed to slice through the air. "This. CANNOT. Be. Happening."

He lowered his head, his eyes staring at the concrete sidewalk. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides. Lisbon watched him, knowing very well that he could snap at any moment.

After all, he had been pushed over the edge before.

"I – I need to speak with her." Patrick suddenly spoke up again. "I need to ask her why Red John is doing this to me. I need to prove that – that she isn't my daughter." He pushed past Teresa before she could stop him. He hurried up toward the CBI building as Teresa hurried behind. "She isn't my daughter."

"Patrick! Patrick, wait!" Teresa called after him. But the man paid no attention to her, and entered into the glass doors.

Patrick made his way to the interrogation rooms, where ''Charlotte Jane" sat behind a table, waiting to be questioned. Rigsby and Cho both stood outside the room, peering in at the girl. They both appeared to be in shock, wondering whether this could really be the daughter of Jane. As Patrick approached, they awkwardly shuffled their feet, not quite knowing what to say. Patrick paid them no mind, however, for his attention was solely directed elsewhere. Before they had a chance to speak up and stop him, Patrick was already inside of the darkly-lit room.

Upon seeing Patrick enter the room, Charlotte jumped up from the table, eager and anxious. She fumbled with her hands, and her large blue eyes were wide. She was obviously nervous.

"Sit down." Patrick mumbled to her, his gaze transfixed on how utterly identical she was to how he had always pictured his grown-up daughter. The girl did as told, and slowly eased herself back into the chair.

There was a long silence that followed, affecting the atmosphere around the room. It was apparent that both of them felt drastically uneasy.

"You don't believe me, do you?" Charlotte finally spoke up.

Patrick stared back into her eyes, not breaking his gaze. "No."

Charlotte let out a long breath and adjusted herself in the chair. "I shouldn't be surprised, but…well, I am. I really don't understand your reaction." She leaned toward him. "I'm your daughter. I've finally found you again and –"

Jane held up his hand. "Save it." He cut her off from speaking, and she sat back in her chair. "It will take much more than sad words to convince me of the impossible."

Charlotte shook her head. "But it's not impossible!"

"You died!" Jane exclaimed. "Dammit, my daughter has been dead for ten years! Please explain to me how your presence here now is even slightly possible."

Charlotte let out a frustrated breath. "I never died, daddy!"

Jane winced. He hadn't been called that name in nearly ten years. He looked at Charlotte, his eyes filled with sadness and painful memories. She took in a breath, clearly affected by his emotion.

"I held my dead child in my arms the night that she was murdered. Her blood soaked into my clothes and my skin from her mutilated body. She was dead before any medics even arrived." Patrick bitterly spat. "Now, be honest and tell me why Red John feels the need to mess with my head once again by trying to convince me of the impossible."

Charlotte shook her head at him and pushed herself up from the table. "God, you're just as stubborn as I remember you." She stood across from Patrick, standing as tall as she could to seem authoritative. Patrick stared down at her, feeling his emotional fortress beginning to crack. "Just please, hear me out! I can explain everything to you if you would just hear me out."

Patrick studied her face, and noticed the desperation in her eyes. It was as though he were staring into a mirror. Finally, he gave in and nodded slightly. Charlotte exhaled and laid her hand on his arm.

"Thank you." She whispered softly. "I can prove that I'm your daughter."

Patrick watched her, unsure of what he believed anymore. Maybe, just maybe, this was his daughter. But if she really was…then what would he do? How could he pick up the pieces after a decade of thinking that she was dead? He shook out the thoughts from his mind. There was no way that his daughter could be alive. He knew that.

But, inside his heart, he thought differently.

Looking back at the spitting image of his daughter in front of him, her eyes wide and anxious, he decided to listen to his instincts. After all, they had never failed him before. "Go ahead." He said to her softly. "I'm listening."

To Be Continued…